


A Day Long Awaited

by jamieherondxle



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Clace babies, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamieherondxle/pseuds/jamieherondxle
Summary: Clary has mixed feelings about some surprising news for Jace....more chapters to come!





	1. Chapter 1

“Jace, you… might want to be sitting for this.”  

He sat: he knew what was coming. It was so completely unlike Clary to hesitate like this, to stare at the floor shyly, her hair falling forward, toeing the edge of the persian rug restlessly, her tone low. She sounded as if she was preparing herself to tell him someone had died. 

She moved her gaze to the ceiling, pressing her lips together. Ther verdant green of her eyes looked especially startling against the pallor of her face. She looked ill; constantly complaining of tiredness, and yet unable to sleep through the night. Her hands worried at the edges of her wool russet-coloured sweater, old and stretched out of shape. She brought her head up, and moved forward slightly. A speech prepared: ready to launch. She moved forward slightly, as if ready to launch — then fell back. “I…By the angel. I don’t know how to say this.”  

He exhaled, patient. He had no idea what expression was on his face — pained that this was so difficult for her? Delighted? Expectant? Dreading? Perhaps he’d been awfully mistaken — what if he had? _Poker face._  

“I…we’re—we’re….” 

“Clary. It’s alright. Just say it.” 

“We’re—going to be parents.” 

The way she said it, her tone, was almost as if she was telling him a child might be delivered in a parcel tomorrow — or they were waiting outside, just now, on the doorstep. 

He let go a smile — one that leaped away from him — a full blown grin that revealed, he feared, rather too much. His heart lifted in his chest; a frisson of excitement ran through him and he felt vaguely light-headed, as if he'd just downed a very strong glass of whiskey. 

For so long, he had wanted this — even before — but he would never admit this to anyone — before he had met Clary, some distant pictures floating in his head of a far-off and, he had thought, an unlikely future. He’d never thought he’d be the one to fall madly in love and get married. Sometimes, he’d let daydreams dance around in his head, chasing themselves, getting carried away. Images of curly, red-headed toddlers wobbling around, screeching and laughing. He missed Max, a hole in his heart, and he missed having someone to look after, to care for. He wanted something to lavish affection upon — the kind of affection he’d never had himself. He’d always known that Clary, however, did not feel similarly: the way she’d turn, cheeks blushing with indignation when — as if the suggestion of marriage wasn’t enough to frighten her off — people said, _and when do we hear the patter of tiny feet? There hasn’t been a baby born in so long!_ Horrified at how repelled she apparently was by the idea, one woman had even said, looking at both of them _, oh why? But you’d have such beautiful babies!_

They’d never really talked about it; not seriously. Her attitude to motherhood seemed obvious enough: if it was ever something she wanted, it was not now. If it was ever. And he understood. As much as it saddened him, he would never force it upon her.

Clary’s hand went out to him, flat, in a gesture that said, _what?_ “You…you’re not surprised? I thought at least you’d be _shocked._ Jace, you’re going to be _father._ You know, _for the rest of your life.”_

He continued to smile, hoping he looked serene. 

Clary straightened, her expression hardened. “You _knew_?!” 

Should he lie? “Yes. I guessed.” 

“Is that because I said you should sit down?” 

He considered the lamp on the coffee table. It was an antique. Clary had found it in the flea market in New York, and Clary had brought it back to Idris, to the Herondale manor. “No, I’ve known for about three weeks now.” 

He turned to face her. Her eyes were incredulous. She blinked. “Three—are you joking? How?! How did you know?!”

He cocked his head to the side. _Please._ “Clary. Is it not obvious? I’m your _husband._ I know your body pretty well, really.” 

She looked insulted. “Obvious?!” She yanked up the baggy sweater she wore, to reveal her a flat, freckled stomach, white as milk, barely runed, and gestured down at herself. Aggressively, she smoothed a palm over her lower abdomen. “Do I look fat to you? I thought I looked exactly the same as I always—“ 

“Clary,” he protested, rolling his eyes theatrically. A pregnant woman, fat? 

“Then what? _How_ is it obvious?” 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at her anger. “I’ve heard you, twice, retching in the bathroom. You’re off your food — and then back on, 2 days later. Suddenly you insist on wearing baggy sweaters, as if fearing there’s something to hide? Your breasts are bigger. I can see your veins under your skin. You love coffee, but you can’t finish a cup now? You haven’t been sleeping. When we had pizza last week, and you said the smell made you feel sick. You missed your period—“ 

“Oh, my _god—“_ She turned away, her palms covering her face. 

“It doesn’t take much to guess, does it?”  

She drew her hands away from her face, her mouth parted, inhaling deeply. Bitterly, she said, “I never knew you were such an expert on the symptoms of pregnancy.” Her eyes travelled around the room, and went to the floor, her face scrunching up. When she looked up again, suddenly, her eyes were streaming with tears. 

“Clary.” He got up, and went over to her, but she stepped away from him. 

“All this time, you knew, and you didn’t say?” 

He sighed. “I was waiting for you to tell me! I wanted you to be sure that you _wanted_ it, that you wanted to tell me. It didn’t seem right to just…” 

Sniffling, she fiercely scrubbed away her tears. “Well. I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” 

He sighed at her, and dragged her into an embrace, resting the underside of his chin on the top of her head. He murmured, “It’s alright. It’s alright—“ 

She pulled away, swallowed audibly, and looked up at him. Her eyes glittered, bloodshot. Her voice was thick. “You don’t understand. It’s not. I said ‘parents’, not ‘pregnant’, because I’m having _twins,_ Jace. I have _two_ babies growing inside me, not one.” 

His mouth fell open. _Two? Twins?_

She said, “The silent brothers said it’s too early, but they think possibly non-identical. So, I guess it’s my fault. But—“

_Two. Twins. Two children._

“Fault? Clary, no, don’t talk like that. Are you—are you not happy? Not even a little bit?” He felt his heart sink. She looked haggard — devastated. He hated seeing her like this.

“Jace. I’m _terrified.”_ More tears travelled down the sides of her face, winding down her neck. “I looked it up — complications are so much more likely, and I only have about seven more months before my time’s up, and then I have to push out not one, but _two_ babies out of my body. Women _die_ because of this, Jace.” 

“Clary. You won’t die. After all you’ve been through—“

“No, Jace, this is not strength, or skill. This is not wielding a seraph blade. It’s _luck_. If one of the placentas doesn’t detach properly and I start to bleed out, that’s it, I’m gone.” 

“Clary. You need to stop thinking like this.” 

“No, you don’t—“

“Clary. Stop. I am not, ever, ever, going to let you die. If I have to follow you into the afterlife and drag you back here myself, I will.” 

A weak smile appeared on her face. She put her hand up to fondle the edge of his shirt.

“Clary…talk to me. Please. Tell me how you feel. Don’t shut me out. I don’t care if you think I don't want to hear it — tell me.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” She croaked. “I don’t know what I feel. I’m sorry.” She looked down at her navel contemplatively. “They’re about the size of peanuts, but they’re causing me a lot of havoc.” 

He hugged her again, fiercely, and kissed her fervently on the forehead. “We’ll get through this. We will. I promise.” 

***  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary's feelings have changed about her pregnancy, but she's having difficulty adjusting to her new body...

Clary was dressed in a loose-fitting ivory lace floor-length dress. She considered herself in the mirror. She looked nice. A subtle flush on her cheeks. Her hair, a shiny, bright copper-gold, impossibly thicker now; waves tightened into coils springing up round her newly rounded face. She looked, for the first time (and possibly last, she thought), something like _voluptuous._ It was nice, she supposed; it was novel. But she struggled to find _herself,_ to find Clary Fray, in the image before her. 

Before that time, her third trimester, she had been quite proud with her bump: neat, rounded a perfect semi-circle, sitting perfectly between her hips. She could still wear her own jeans, provided they were sitting low enough. She could do all the things normal Shadowhunters could do — almost all of it, anyway. There had been, really, very little adjustment needed.

But now? She felt engorged, exceeding and over-spilling her frame everywhere on her body. And it was not just the suddenly mammoth-like bulge protruding from her stomach — the constant, odd sensation of two other beings, moving around deep inside you — the bump was its own entity, its own country — and it had gained mass out of nowhere. Her knees and ankles were puffy and hurting. Her arms thicker, her breasts, swollen three cup sizes, always tender. Even her thighs, her bum — it was everywhere. Weight, never a problem for the Clary that was before, seemed to, as soon as she stopped the exercise of normal Shadowhunting — accumulate from thin air. Stretch marks were beginning to zig zag around her hips and on the underside of her stomach. 

Jace had of course responded to this change with wonder, with desire. _Clary, I’m not trying to flatter you. You_ are _!_ He was ever on his knees now, head pressed reverently into her stomach — _listen! —_ kissing her, awed by her. But she was shy of herself, shocked by herself — that her body could run away from her like this. Was she even in control of it anymore? Everyone’s comment, now was: _By the angel, Clary! You’re getting big!_

_Big enough to sail, I know._

Jace had said to her, _why can’t this also be you? Why is there only ever one version of yourself that you’ll accept as you? You’re just as beautiful, just as much the Clary I know, but she looks a little different._

Hour by hour, it seemed, the little male and female foetus curled tight up inside her gained a little more mass. Every time she sat, getting up was more painful than last. Her back, constantly pulled on, seemed as aching and bruised as an over-ripe, softened apple. 

She felt an impending sense of doom. But also impatience: she wanted to meet them, to see them, to nurture them. Nobody told you how frustrating it was — to be able to feel your children all the time, but be blind to everything else about them. 

Jace had developed a little ritual, first thing in the morning, pulling up her vest, talking to them. He’d trace his fingertips across her skin, tickling her into wakefulness. He’d press the flat of his palm down as he saw them come to the surface, making little ripples as they twitched, shifted, shuffled or kicked. _I can feel them! Was that an arm, or a leg? An elbow?_

It was a problem, not knowing which was the boy and which the girl. To everyone else, she referred to them as  _her little ones._

That morning, he’d pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her navel, moving his hand down the left side of her stomach, and said dreamily, “I can’t believe there’s only a few millimetres of skin separating us. It seems ridiculous, doesn’t it?” 

“It won’t be long, now.” She replied. 

Clary had made a host of new pregnancy-related runes and the one for childbirth she’d had waiting in the wings for weeks now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day long awaited!

It was Simon who came running — two and half weeks later, Jace just left for a council meeting — of course! —and Clary had been upstairs in the nursery, putting away babyclothes. He had a sense of the babies, as if they were some small extension of herself. Abruptly, he left Isabelle, sensing that something was happening, almost a rumbling under his feet. 

She’d dragged herself downstairs, panting, hand strapped across her stomach, grimacing. “There’s a bag, upstairs — go and get it for me, would you?” Inside the bag was everything she’d prepared. Towels, a change of clothes, antiseptic wipes.

Simon helped her into the linen nightdress she’d prepared — she’d warned him, long ago, you realise _you’re going to have to see me…Clary,_ he’d replied, _please. I’ve seen Isabelle do this._ But the way the pain was intensifying, Clary did not care at all for her modesty. 

He was happy he was with her. She’d been with him at the birth of his son, and he wanted to be there for the birth of her children. The person that he himself had known from childhood. She took his hand gladly, gripping it as she exhaled heavily. With his other hand, he pushed her hair out of her face. His hand came away, damp with sweat. 

It was two hours later, when her waters broke, that she decided it was time for the rune. Between contractions, he bent down, and with his stele, ever so carefully traced over the very top of her bump the rune that she’d showed him. 

She did not feel the burn in her skin — the pain of the contractions drowned out everything else. 

“Do you want me to get Jace?” Simon asked. 

“No. No, they say there’s at least another few hours of this yet. He’ll be done. He won’t miss it. If I think he will, then y—“ Another contraction gripped her, and she gritted her teeth, moaning. Simon rubbed her back. 

“Don’t forget to breathe!” He warned her. She threw her head back. “It’s important to keep moving. Isabelle said it helped.” 

Clary paced the room. Simon hovered, ready to pounce in case she needed the slightest thing. “Would you like some music? They say it helps relax—“ 

“How can I be relaxed? How can I be calm?! Pain does not make you _calm,_ Simon.” 

“I know,” he said, patiently. “But you’ll make it worse for yourself if you let yourself stressed.” 

An hour later, and she wasn’t moving around as much anymore. She was crouched on the floor, panting, and Simon kneading her back. When Jace walked in, she barely up looked up, focused as she was. 

“Clary? Cl—oh my _GOD—“_ Jace ran over to them. “Are you alright? Oh, my—how long? How long,” he looked at Simon now, accusatorily, “has she been—“

“A few hours.” 

“Hours?!” 

“Jace, shut _up!”_ Clary shouted. “I _told_ him not to tell you.” 

That quieted him. 

After another two hours, and Clary’s groans became cries, as she began to ready herself to push. Those cries slipped into briefly, into screams of agony as the first baby began to make its way down the birth canal. Simon was composed, self-possessed; Jace was panicking, staring at Clary in horror, completely powerless to relieve her pain. He felt sorry for him. He remembered feeling like that when Izzy had been in labour. It was a kind of torture, to watch the one you love most in the world endure the world’s worst sort of pain and be able to do absolutely nothing about it. Whilst Isabelle was in labour, he had prayed. 

“It’s not— I can see the head but it’s not — emerging,” Jace called out from below Clary’s splayed legs. 

Clary was panting, catching her breath; speech had deserted her. 

“You need to gently coax it out, with your fingers. Just gently.” Simon called back. 

Jace did as he was bid: two pushes after, tears of agony streaming from Clary’s eyes, Jace made a noise of triumph — shaken and incredulous. 

“Look.” He offered up a long-limbed, waxy, bloody, alien-looking baby that was wriggling in his arms, cord still attached, screaming the roof down. “We have a little girl.” 

Simon noticed that his arms were trembling as he moved the baby from his arms to place the baby on Clary’s chest. Clary looked down at the little thing in shock, and then back up at Jace. A laugh bubbled out of her lips, and more tears followed. Its head was covered in thin waves of dark hair that glistened copper in the light. When she opened her eyes, they glittered a light, spun gold — her father’s eyes. 

Cord clipped, Simon took the baby, wrapping her in a towel. Clary’s eyes followed him, unwilling to let her go, unwilling to do what she had to do. “Jace, I can’t, please don’t…I can’t do it again, I can’t.”

Simon said, “Clary, you can do this. Come on. You can.”

Another contraction waved over her. “Come on, now, push!” Simon shouted.

This time, it did not take nearly as long — a couple of minutes, and the baby slid out into Jace’s ready hands — their son. This baby was smaller, and its cries were quiet, like little bleats; nothing like his sister’s shrieking. As Jace brought round the baby to its mother — tears in his eyes — he noticed that the baby had a full head of silvery-white hair. When it opened its eyes, they were a deep, twilight blue. 


End file.
